The Emergence of Bo Peep: From Lamb to Ewe
by Somewhat Sentient
Summary: Bobbi Argall had grown on her father's farm all her life.  When a lord takes away this land, she has to work for his sake.  With the lord's playboy son, her father's suicide, and the fate of her country at stake, she has no choice but to become Bo Peep.
1. Little Bo Peep Has Lost Her Sheep

**Hi there, I'm a new fanfiction writer so doing this sort of thing is different for me. Usually I don't borrow ideas, so it's going to be a bit harder for me to make everything stick while getting the characters to be at least REMOTELY similar to their counterparts...**

**It's a bit confusing, so I'll explain it a little more. Bo Peep is actually this girl named Bobbi Argall, who lived with only her father. Her mother, I guess you could say, left her and her father to fend for themselves. You'll read it and find a bit of references to feudalism, which if you look up on Wikipedia might become a bit clearer. Also, Goose Country is just a name I thought of for all the Fairy Tale stories I decide to do, so if I ever get to making another you'll understand what Goose Country is. Also, this story's time line should be equivalent to the medieval ages, so if you find any problems with things that shouldn't have happened before the medieval ages, I'd like you to point it out.**

**UPDATE: Before I had something about a tractor, and see, tractors didn't exist back then. Thank you anonymous review! So, instead it's a plough, which doesn't even HAVE a seat so that has to be completely rewritten...which is why it is, which is why I mentioned this. Err, yeah.**

Lying down on the heather amongst all of the creepy crawlies made you think differently – about the world and about how comfortable feather stuffed pillows really are. Each morning you could tuck yourself away in the cranny of a tall apple tree. Its limbs were built to have many fruits, all red or green and sometimes a startling yellow. The fact that at dawn everything was slumbering and serene, well it affected you.

That is, until your father wakes up and told you to quit loafing and tend to the herd.

Sliding down the dew sprinkled hill, I felt everything slosh around me as I pulled to a halt. The soft moans coming from the animal fence became louder and louder, until I couldn't bear to hear the sound. Circling around the picket fence, I gasped. There was blood all over the ground, matting the fleece of the sheep emitting it.

Mary, my favorite ewe, was dying.

I looked around her at her bulging tummy, a sign she was meant to pregnant. But when I saw her then, I knew she hadn't died because of birth pains. Somebody had killed one of our sheep, and especially the one who was pregnant. Why, I couldn't quite tell. But judging from how Mary was still alive, it was obvious that the poacher was still here.

"Al! I think somebody's…" I ran over to the plow, calling out my father's name and not finding him in his usual place behind the reins, the horses gone from their tethered posts . Even the house was empty, not a single wisp of his grey hair to be found. Fear tugged at my stomach, and before I knew it the worry had gotten a hold of me and I was clutching our gun. It wasn't used often, only to kill hungry foxes, and due to the little use there were plenty shots left.

"Al?" My gumboots dug into the ground and mud stuck on the soles. Not a single minute was there were I could not hear the agitated bleats of the remaining sheep. They cried out for Mary, and her dead lambs – dead even before being born. Soon the chickens began clucking excitedly, and the squeals of our sow broke out upon the chaos. I was trudging towards our main gate, where I could make out two figures.

The gun was cocked as I inched forward, all of my muscles tense and scared, waiting for the command to kill. I couldn't tell just yet who it was, or if I even knew them. Everything was so blurred, as I'd been resting peacefully just earlier. Everything had happened too fast for me to comprehend; everything that could go wrong had gone wrong.

My entire body relaxed a smidgeon, glad to see that it was just my father talking to another man. The man looked rich, all dressed up even when visiting a farm with his tweed double-breasted peaked lapel jacket and matching pair of pants. He was holding onto the rim of his porkpie hat, as if afraid an ominous wind would blow him away.

However, both my father and the man looked upset, my father seemingly more on the verge of tears than the other gentleman. I saw that he had blood splotches all over his gabardine overalls, probably from trying to help out Mary. Even from far away I could see how dry the marks were, signs of resignation. He too knew we couldn't help her anymore than the other sheep could.

"I don't, by any means necessary, mean to upset you kind sir. It's just, as the vassal I must let you know that this property was requested by the man who had bought our town from our great King William. You remember when our great king bought this land from myself? Therefore, please relinquish yourself of the deed and all rights to your farm, and I shall be on my way."

I felt anger surge through my body, the mere thought of my father's hard work being wasted because our king had been careless. Who's to say he was never careless? King William is rumored to slip down stairs once or twice a day, and fall off of his bed once or twice a night. He's a very wealth hungry mongrel, so if he could he would sell his own family off. He only makes good decisions with the help of his court, and even then they have to sometimes overrule his many ideas and exploits.

"Have you taken the other farm?" The vassal nodded, and my father swore profusely under his breath. I'd never heard him swear so ruggedly before, the same man who only said the Lord's name in vain when he cut himself severely. Even then, it was something he strayed away from. I watched him nod back at the vassal, and they both fiddled with their fingers. Then I say my father extract it.

Our deed.

The other man took out his own piece of parchment, a contract saying that we did indeed legally allow such a transaction. My father now had a grim look on his face, but took the fountain pen and began to read over the document. My feet felt like cinder blocks and my brain like freshly churned butter; each step was like moving a mountain and even then I couldn't focus enough to walk.

With a shaking hand, he began to sign the form. I tried to get to him, but I was now completely unable to move whether I figured out how to or not. Sweat poured down my chin, soiling my crisp button up blouse. Tears left blotches all along my cheeks, pooling down my neck until I found the urge to rub them away.

My father finished signing it, his lips in a thin line and face looking pale. Our home, our only way of living. How were we supposed to pay the taxes? Where were we supposed to live? To give up your deed, it's…it's to give up everything. To give up the life you had for a worse one, all because the decree of a single man. I didn't realize it, but my lips curled in disgust when thinking of such a low person.

The fountain pen hit the ground, one end clicking to close it and then the sides hammering down on the earth. To me, it felt like a tremor. Everything was going too slow for me, and I heard a scream. Al turned to look at my face, his expression softening to show that he felt my pain. Then he noticed my gun, and both tried to get to me. Another scream broke into the morning.

I was the banshee, screaming my lungs out. It was unknown to me that I'd done it. It was just instinct, the animal within me letting humanity take a break. Just as the screaming was instinct, so what the click and sound of a bullet ripping apart the gauze-like air. As was the drop of the gun, and the groan of the vassal. My father rushed to his side, black blood pouring out of the vassal's wood on his arm.

I flashed back to Mary, back to the home I'd left behind. The early noises of the farm, the sway of the tree's branches on the wind and the sound the leaves made when they wrestled underneath my shoes. The soft bed I had with those itchy feather stuffed pillows, not even a comparison worthy of my hill. The hill I'd sit on, where I'd lived out my happiness and my innocence. Looking at my hands, I swallowed hard. The regular speed of life was regained, but I barely noticed.

I was only hoping I hadn't just killed a man.

**So there! One chapter done, a couple dozen to go! I suppose I might do more than twelve chapters, but I don't know if I won't finish it by then. Sorry if it's too long - I'd appreciate it if you'd let me know so I could update it to be shorter. It's my first time having people review my stuff, so if you flame I really could use it. Flames make me feel warm and fuzzy inside because it helps me realize that people who flame care. Or at least some of them do...just kidding. If you even bothered reading past the first sentence, you are already my favorite person in the entire world! I can have a whole ton of those. If you have any ideas for my story, let me know!**

**-Somewhat Sentient  
**


	2. Tried What She Could, As Sheperds Should

**The chapter before was a bit bloody, so this sort of thing shouldn't be getting anymore graphic than that. Just sorta kinda not really bloody and sorta kinda not really emotional. I don't know. I'm sure I'll get better at writing as I move on through the creative world - I guess...wow, I always say "think" or "guess" or "though" like I'm not certain myself, don't I? Well, it's true, I'm not certain. I'm not certain I'm not certain I'm not certain, because if I was certain then I would be certain I was certain I was certain. Confuzzling...**

It was only his arm. I hadn't actually shot him in the chest or anywhere else fatal. My heart raced as I struggled to capture the thought. I hadn't killed him – I wasn't a murderer. But having shot someone without reason, I was now somewhat of a criminal. If that wasn't bad enough, I seemed guilty. Guilty enough that it wasn't a good enough reason to shoot the man because I was defensive. Even I didn't believe that.

The doctor was listening to the man's account, his judgment on what truly happened. Naturally, we were separate by a thick wall so we would not listen in or interfere with his story-telling. I still couldn't work my head out of the rut, everything seemed so impossible what had happened today. A nurse was checking to make sure neither I nor my father were drunk, and had run us through a couple of tests to check our sanity.

"Al…" I began my apology as the nurse left, wanting a bit of privacy myself. I was still unsure as to what I should say, hoping the words would just tumble out on their own. Everything was so new to me, nothing quite making sense just yet. I wanted to share this doubt with my father, not endure it alone.

"Bobbi, how could you SHOOT the man? That's just…that's just unbelievable! Why…you know what? Never mind…just, never mind." I shrunk away at his words, not even able to reply. What was I supposed to say? I hadn't actually meant to shoot the man, it was just I felt the need to? That everything was an accident? That those words, though they mean nothing coming out of my mouth, would save our farm?

Every minute I spent contemplating what I'd done felt like an hour. It seemed like days before the vassal even finished his confession of everything which had happened and that same amount of days when the doctor finally unbarred the door from the inside and opened it open to see us. The vassal, though by custom he wasn't meant to, came out and immediately shook my father's hand with his uninjured one.

I couldn't stop staring at the splint and the doctor's bloodstained gloves.

"You see, I'm doing you a favor right here, because I noticed something during my near death experience. Sir, I will send you daughter to the neighboring king's castle!" My stomach lurched, as I realized what this really meant. He wanted to get rid of me – make a scullery maid of me and give me to the same man who took away our home. Why would I work for anybody so…cruel?

My father seemed equally as happy as I was, and had to shut his mouth to stop it from gaping wide so everyone could see his pearly whites. I tried not to get down on my knees and grovel right there, because it would be more troublesome for our situation. A criminal and a beggar? I wasn't either, though if I hindered the judgment anymore it would be something against me.

"I suppose you'll need an explanation. You're not the only one who feels uneasy about losing your property, I can completely understand. This is why your daughter will be sent to the castle to not only reform, but become a proper lady and not a farm boy. If I do this you will have time to get a job and a home, and she will be sending minimum income back to you. The rest is up to me, to pay the horrid bill for this splint. What do you say?"

I clenched my fists, not at all eager or excited by the idea. Of course, it would help my father out. We'd have money, food, and he'd have time. We'd be living on the streets and in the alleys otherwise, feeding off of food dumped out onto the sidewalk. It would keep me out of jail, and eventually we might even have enough money to buy back our land. All there was that was a problem was the fact I'd be spending time in the feudal lord's castle.

I let my fingers wander around my ribs, each almost showing completely, left bare by the little stomach I had. We hadn't even been eating well since the frequent battles between everyone's kings, and I'd be doing my father a favor as the vassal said. I looked at my father, but he was giving sideways glances at the splint. Horrid bill? If the vassal couldn't pay it in one month, we couldn't pay it in two lifetimes.

"I accept," my words rang out, the only ones spoken in quite a while. Before, I'd felt empty because I couldn't do naught to help my father, but now…now I could well get him money. If anything, he needed money to build him back up and buy our lives back. I could still remember the farm vividly, and I didn't want to forget anytime soon. I wanted to see our land again.

"Well, then, you heard the lass. I'll stage a coach for you immediately to be driven to King Dominic. You are allowed to spend twenty-four hours on the farm land after relinquishment. After such a time period, if found upon the land it will be considered trespassing and have consequence. Good luck, I will see you in the morn."

My entire throat went dry as I finally comprehended what I'd gotten into. I'd been sold into a form of servitude, left to work my years as a castle maid until further notice from my father. I knew my father, I knew how quickly he made his money. And yet I found myself putting my life at risk at for the sake of money, which the bearer of such sake couldn't even make appear in little than four months! Who knew how long I'd be in such a predicament?

Before I could give a second answer, we were whisked out of the clinic and into a carriage which carried us to our not so far away old land, and then deposited us at the foot of our steps. I finally opened my eyes, fearful of my first time riding with the horses, and breathed out a sigh of relief. Luckily, I wasn't too shaken and found myself walking into my old room without a thought. My bed was still unmade from that morning.

It broke my heart to see that.

Rifling through the dresser, I found that a couple of my shirts and undergarments were missing; only two plain chemises and drawers remained. There were two short dungarees, two woolen turtlenecks, and a couple pairs of breeches completed my entire dresser. Almost all of my clothing was made out of wool, due to the fact that we owned so many sheep. It kept me warm during the winter, though sometimes I wore vests over just my chemises, or overalls like today, during summer. I found a few pieces of simple jewelry, like abstract bracelets and rings or necklaces.

My father came in with a carpet bag, and I packed everything inside of it. My clothing was folded neatly, and the trinkets tucked away in a compartment or pocket. I packed a few belts borrowed from my father, some clean socks and one pair of stockings, boots and slippers, and a satchel bag for walking around. It was nighttime when we finished, putting in soap and other products in case the employer didn't supply it. Which I doubted he would.

In Esther Fiefdom, my hometown named after the young woman who was the daughter of the vassal, almost nothing could be accomplished without a little work. It was so with the maid occupation as well, which didn't help my predicament much. It's well known that maids are treated even worse than farmhands and paid almost nothing. You could quit such a job, but it was disgraceful – just as much piano legs were scandalous.

However, all maids were respectable upon comparison to a regular farm serf, au contraire to what their employers believed. They were fashionable, courteous, well-behaved and prudent just as women should be. Or so went the expectations. Looking at my dirty blonde and lifeless hair, as well as my flat-as-a-board figure, you'd ask my parents why they hadn't just birthed themselves a boy. Truthfully, I was a bit proud of it.

I gulped down a bottle of milk while my father smacked his head on our old pine table. I hated having to add "old" to everything since it was no longer ours – it felt so empty and useless to call it my own. I could see a great red welt on Al's head, my ears picking up the resistant noises coming from outside. Washing out the jug and leaving it to soakc, I looked out our now stripped bare window.

They were packing away out animals into tight wooden crates.

"Al…"

"I know, I know." My father sighed, and it was the most pitiful exhale I'd ever heard. It was bad enough that they were confiscating everything we owned, but that fact we couldn't do anything was even worse. I grinded my teeth against each other, upset by everything. I had no choice to go. I knew I had agreed, but I hadn't actually thought the vassal meant it. His job was to keep the people within his fief safe, but since the king had bought the land from him, and the lord still owned that land, thus in some way the king was a vassal above the vassal. From there, the lord could buy it back and our dear vassal would have no authority. That didn't mean he couldn't be blamed.

After a couple of swallows, I stepped outside into the crisp air. It was nighttime, and the lightning bugs flew all around as lights in the sky. I could breathe in the scent of the heather, the smell of dung still floating around even once our animals – excuse me, our old animals – were packed and shipped away. Tears clawed at my eyes, but I bit my lip and pressed forward. I could already hear the clopping of the coach's hooves and the crack of the leather whip.

"I see you've already gotten ready, dear. Don't worry – your days as a castle maid are beginning. The work on a farm is not befitting a lady, no?" The vassal, or as I found his name was Patrick, heaved his portly body over the small window in the carriage. The horseman was guiding the mare to a halt, his hat tipped over modestly. I could almost swear he had a smirk on his face, glad to finally have an extra sovereign gained that day to the misfortune of another. It was a very low place nowadays, Goose Country.

Patrick looked towards my father who was staggering towards the gate with his own carpet bag, ready to leave as well as me. He had a haunted look in his eyes, circles underneath sagging all the way to his cheeks. Patrick looked gently towards me, and then nodded to my father. I clicked my tongue nervously, but walked towards him nonetheless.

"You know Bobbi; I really do wish I'd had a child. The only thing I've ever been able to treasure is my sheep, my farm." He turned his head away from me, brown stubble littering his unshaven face. The long tendrils of uncut and curly hair sprouted from his scalp, a dusty mahogany. I knew my father never thought of me as his daughter, even though we had those uncanny Argall dimples. I was a farmhand, a serf, and that was all that mattered. At least I was loved in a way, right?

"Of course, my wife, she…she didn't give me time. I hate to give you up, but the farm is having a form of reconstruction, political business you wouldn't understand. Since you don't have any family backbone to support you, I'm shipping you off for the moment. You'll wait for me, right Bobbi?" My insides seemed to swell up, and I finally let the tears go from their prison. I couldn't quite understand why, but even when I heard him completely disregard me as kindred, I didn't care. I just wanted to hug him then.

Burying my face into his shoulders, I let the choked sobs fly out of my mouth like wedding doves set free. My ill ability to control my emotions was noticed by the vassal, but I wasn't humiliated. I only wanted to let my father know that he really did have a daughter, that she was here taking a sacrifice for the sake of our family. Just for him, and that's what should've shown, but I knew he couldn't feel it. Even as I embraced him, his body was stiff.

"Bobbi," his voice cracked, and he coughed to clear up his throat. I could see the blood rising to his face, but I kept my voice quiet knowing that this was just a small moment for me. I couldn't ruin it with honesty or anything else. "I love you, I do, and it's just…" He smiled down at me, and I couldn't hear those last words he mumbled. Letting me go, he nudged me forward towards the coach.

A mix of emotions flooded my brain. Was I ever going to come back home? Just how would work at the castle be like? I wasn't ready for anything, not leaving home or going to a new one. I was almost sure it wouldn't even feel like home; it'd be just as bad as living on the streets with the lonely and cold feeling living in the night air. I absorbed everything in, my breath shallow with regret and determination. Whether the castle was cozy or not wasn't my concern. The fact was that my father actually did something close to a loving squeeze, and I couldn't let it go to waste could I? No, this wasn't going to affect me.

That feudal lord shouldn't be expecting a welcome gesture.

**Whew. I didn't exactly shorten it or lengthen it. Before I posted it as one big chapter, this one and the previous one, but now I just decided to cut it in half and leave it that way. Before it was like 4,000 words and I thought that was a bit too much for a person to take in at once. What do you think? Whoever it is that is reading my stuff and/or reviewing it some shape or form or way? Greeting, my name is Somewhat Sentient. You probably figured that part out on your own already, though...**

**-Somewhat Sentient  
**


	3. She Heaved A Sigh And Wiped Her Eye

**This one has a kissing scene in it, so it's a bit more graphic then I would usually write. I really want to know if it's good or not, because I'm not very good at romance in the first place. Just so you know, I don't mean to offend anyone with my usage of the Christian religion in my stories. It's just, that's the main thing they believed in during the medieval ages so I thought it good to incorporate some of that. I'd like to say thanks to my sensei, Ulquiorra-isnt-emo because her writing really got me to write better romance. So, be sure to check out her stuff if you ever check out mine.**

It took hours to reach the castle, far on the west and lengths to go after that. I wouldn't be able to count our judge our exact path and I suppose it was for the better. They probably hadn't wanted me to even guess where I was going. Just what I was going to be doing, how, and under whom exactly. That was my mission.

Patrick, or Tricia as I've become to call the old man, was snoring quite loudly and the horseman was even getting disturbed. There was a dense fog all around us, and the man up front was getting more than he'd bargained for. Remembering his fox-like smirk, I was one to chuckle. Next time he thought of using another person's bad karma to his advantage, he'd think to ask for a bit more than a sovereign. I smacked my lips greedily at the thought of money. That's what I'd have to be from now on; some insatiable fool as was our king.

Looking at the bulging purse of Tricia the entire time, I was startled silly as the entire mobile box stopped. Lurching forward, I put my hands out to keep inches away from the vassal's face. Breathing through my nose ever so slightly, I slid back into place and let myself suck in the thick and humid air coming from the fog. Without even noticing, I had stepped out of the carriage and into the soft grass.

Everything crunched under my feet; unlike the autumnal paradise I'd lived in before, this place was a summer enclosure. There were blossoms popping out of the ground in an almost mesmerizing way, nothing looking natural. It all seemed planned, set, and rehearsed to the point each tulip had dew sprinkled on the same way. I choked on the fairytale idiocy this fiefdom had obviously attempted to represent.

There were some scullery maids scurrying around, searching for the right truffles and the perfect nuts for the morning tea's tarts, I suspected. Everything seemed so prim, right down to their neatly tied bows and aprons pressed with a steamy iron. I could smell a light lavender perfume on each as they passed by in frenzy, their scent intoxicating and choking me completely. Reeling over at the overbearing quality of the entire land, I already imagined how absolutely wonderful my stay at this place would be.

I must've looked unbearably shabby in the eyes of these maids, these raised to perfection young ladies. I didn't really feel self-pity, but my self-esteem did drop quite a bit. I'd always admired myself in the mirror, the way sometimes my hair curled naturally after I braided it in the morning, but looking at these walking pieces of art I couldn't help but shrink back. This was a completely different depiction of beauty, and I felt quite envious. Not enough to want to stay here in my free time, of course.

"This is the new serf, I expect?" A butler with a cowlick and the stereotypical napkin placed over his fifty degree bent arm walked towards us with a disgusted grimace on his face. Looking at his pinched skin and the way it looked waxy and slick, so much you could touch it and it would feel like a melting candle, didn't make me smile too hard either. Tricia nodded to me, and smiled brightly. If only some of his never-ending optimism and eccentricity could be handed down to me, like father to indentured servant. If only.

"I suppose we could always use her. She won't have to be paid much, will she?" The two moved off, and I heard Tricia whisper something about myself having debts and only needing a payment of a farthing to a ha'penny. Staring daggers at his back, I shook hands with the few women who bothered stopping to take me in. Some barely hid their surprise, others asking me if I was visiting to ask for some sort of dole. After answering their questions with snaps, I trudged on to my inevitable torture. Thus is the way the world works, no?

The entrance hall was lavishly decorated with paintings and a tapestry dating back from the days when wearing nothing was high couture. There were long rolls of parchment cased in a form of trophy case, not the paper type but the kind from animal furs used by the natives of foreign countries. I was afraid to even breathe in here – frightened that if I did everything would collapse in on us. Things worth more than a couple pounds, which was already more than my own life, were all around us. It was stifling enough to be near the nursery rhyme come to life maidens, now I had to be careful not to topple over some pottery thought to be beautiful? Great grief.

We exited the entrance hall into a parlor room, everything laid out in a purposeful casual way, which completely cancelled out the attempted casual atmosphere. You didn't need trigonometry to know that if you forced something to look casual, it wouldn't look casual. The drapes were made of fine silk, something I could tell without even inspecting it further. Growing up having to make your own clothes was enough to have such a skill. There were fresh forget-me-nots and bleeding hearts, like a bouquet fresh from the islands. Everything shined with an allure I had never imagined was possible.

We were still being introduced when I wandered off the path of the tour. I hadn't felt very happy with staying the good girl the butler believed me to be, since it was too tight-necked and uncomfortable. No, I'd rather sneak around and see if I could find anything against the lord. It wouldn't help my situation in any sort of way, but at least I'd be able to feel a bit better about staying here. Surely the maids gossiped, spread rumors, or told and participated in scandals? It was the only highlight of castle life!

The slow and steady pacing of kitchen maids and the harsh orders of what sounded to be a female cook were the only friends which accompanied me as I tiptoed through the empty corridors. The chipper voices of Patrick and his newly appointed best friend were gone now, just an empty memory I was glad to get rid of. One more compliment to the architecture of the castle and background of its history and I would have let all of my stale bread and slightly moldy cheese over the treasured rugs of his Lord Unnamed.

I heard a few whispers from behind a door, but they sounded rushed and urgent unlike the earlier shouts. Inching closer, I peered in through the crack, glad for the carelessness of those who tried so hard to keep secrecy. There was a boy with cleanly cropped hair, which seemed to be in style nowadays, and bright blue eyes the color of the ribbon loose and hanging freely around his neck. There was a young woman there, her sleeves sliding all the way down her shoulders and arms tickling the boy's cheeks.

I was probably watching the wrong thing at the wrong time, but temptation got the better of me and I stayed put. Every minute you could hear the muffled gasp of the maiden, and the boy seemed quite hungry with the way he kissed her. Suddenly, they broke apart and you could see the woman's makeup trickle down in rosy pastels. She stood up and immediately raced out the door, leaving me to hide behind it.

The gentleman was burying his face in his lap, so I began to step forward. It was either empathy or compassion, but something moved me to help the crestfallen fellow. As I went into the room he lifted his head, and I saw a grin playing on his face. I tried to read his facial expressions, but could come to only one conclusion.

He'd been laughing then, not crying.

"You're not Miller." His piggish grin melted away into a confused one, then shifted into a disgusted grimace. I sat cross-legged, and he stared at my cotton twill pants with an even more baffled expression. I tried not to laugh, silently thanking the Lord I hadn't worn a dress. It wasn't hard to see this boy was used to women wearing breeches, and being able to see their lacy bloomers under them. I could understand men's wishes for such a thing, but it's quite rude to actually look.

"And you're not crying." I raked my hands through my hair when he turned away, naturally self-conscience. He was a dashing boy, but I had the strangest feeling. Like my body was sounding off a…warning horn. I thought of trumpets and army camps, with pitched up tents. Shivering, I began to think ahead. What if I actually lived in something like that during my stay here?

"Why would I be crying, you numbskull serf?" Sweeping the hair out of my face, I tried my hardest not to punch him square in the jaw and step on him a bit after that. He'd referred to me as a serf, inferring well enough that he wasn't of my current level. He was a noble – one of the snobby ones you'd always find one place or another, with the riches and beautiful complexion. Not that he was beautiful, in fact he was atrocious. In personality, but I couldn't judge how he looked after he'd just insulted me. It'd come out distorted, towards my point of view then.

Shuffling awkwardly, I finally decided to reply. Of course, this was the exact time the noble child decided to speak as well. Somehow, they always were able to do such a thing. Speak right as another wished to. It had to be some sort of birthright. So as I saw him begin to speak, I pushed my lips into a thin line, grinding my teeth slightly in annoyance. Why must I bow down to him, when only a few hours ago I was in the same position?

"How much of that did you see, exactly?" He slid closer to my spot, which caused me to back up subconsciously. Like a predator, he stayed on my trail and soon was so close it was hard not to touch. My entire body seized up and I felt my teeth churning and grinding harder. Spreading my legs open, he scooted a little further away but still not good enough for me to be in good conscience. I desperately wished I hadn't opened that door and stepped in, in the first place.

"Well, yes I saw quite a bit but it's not something I can't forget…" I chattered on mindlessly, not sure how exactly to answer. I couldn't lose this job yet – I'd barely even begun it! I knew well enough the way the entire nobility concept worked. I'd been to parties with my father at times, so etiquette was taught to me. Apparently, it was tradition for a noble to break rules such as no gossiping. This meant if one noble complains, soon all of the nobles are complaining.

"You better forget…" H leaned in closer, and the smell of lemon filled my nose. I was scared to breathe, so I held it in as he looked at me with those stain glass eyes of his. I felt like I was looking at a kaleidoscope, disconcerted by all those different hues of blue. There was a light touch of gold next to each hue, eventually dissolving into glinting silver. The baby blue, orphan blue, pewter, cobalt, lapis lazuli, even metallic and steel blues melted together to create those transfixing lightly lashed eyes.

"I…I'm not a numbskull! F…for the Lord's sake, you're the numbskull! I became so nervous that I stumbled backwards as shock registered in his face. I felt all the blood rush to my face as the noble scoffed in my direction. It felt like my entire body was on pins and needles when the young man showed me that noble's specialty; the death stare. Some would have their eyes bulge out, others would frown and have all their wrinkles and worry lines show. Depending on the noble, you'd see quite a few turkey chins after the frown, but it was nothing you couldn't see before.

"You're but a serf, and you want to speak in such a way? What's your name, girl?" I kept my mouth shut, hoping to brush him off. He just took my head I none hand, brushing the skin atop my chin just barely. I tried to keep from biting him, because I was already deep enough and that could be a crime for all I knew. My eyes averted his, knowing well enough what they did to a person.

"Your name?" He leaned in closer, his warm breath tickling the soft of my ear. I wanted to push him off, but couldn't without putting myself in further jeopardy. I closed my eyes, pretending I was invisible. Perhaps if I tried hard enough, it would become reality. Opening my eyes, I felt my situation drop lower and lower.

"It's…well…it's a girl name, sir."

"Of course it is! Quit being so vague!" He snapped insistently at me, and I felt a nerve or two burst. I wasn't born with temperance or prudence or any of the virtues women should have. I didn't need them on the farm, and I had decided I wouldn't need them in real life. You're supposed to build such a skill during your swaddling years, but once you start work at age three everything and everyone is below you.

"For all my stars, you may be my noble but I have no need to tell you my name! Call me blind, but you don't even look old enough to have been BREECHED yet! How could I ever respect you as my higher up?"

Anger surged through him and blazed out his eyes, flames scattering all around his face. I rested my hand on the lower edge of the door, my heart beating wildly like that of a racing horse. I was about to scream - my mouth halfway open and ready to let loose my voice - when I felt something press against it. My hand flew from under the door to the noble boy's arm.

He'd pulled a fast one on me that scum!

I felt his soft lips against my own chapped ones, his head leaning into mine delicately. There was electricity about the way he kissed that let me knew he was talented, all the while pulling me in and sending tingles down my skin. The smell of lemon was laced into my own dirty smell immediately, our bodies so close we generated each other's heat and passion.

Without even realizing it I was falling into the kiss, unable to stop my body from responding to his embrace. My sense had gone so numb that by the time we broke apart to breathe I was the one to initiate. Everything around me felt steamy, but his cool touch kept me from burning. All my wits spoke out against kissing this boy - but I was at wits end by now. There was nothing I could do but continue.

We'd gone on without much change, when the boy shifted to rest his hand on my thigh. His arm snaked around me, touching the soft of my back. The end of his teeth bit my lip ever so gently like I was the one doing it, but it sent my entire body jerking in a way which told me it wasn't someone so inexperienced. I squirmed but he held me in place with the allure of his lips.

It was so much, all the craze in my head and the feelings I couldn't describe. It was completely euphoric, completely accidental, and completely perfect at the same time. I was horrified and pleased in a way which startled me and set chills down my spine. He went lowered his hands each second we were one, barely grazing my leg but making me lean back at an angle so he had more range. I felt him open his mouth, not even asking for entrance before he did. I cringed as his tongue steadily came towards mine, and I felt my own will slip away. Knowing this couldn't continue without consequences, I ducked his kiss and punched him in the stomach.

It was a soft movement, the punch, barely enough to hurt. My bones were still like fresh cream from the shocks he'd given me, and I hadn't wanted anymore. I didn't want him to show such signs of love, when it wasn't even a chaste motion. He'd never even felt anything for me, of that I was sure. He staggered back slightly winded, not even stumbling over my own entangled legs.

Huffing out large clouds of air, I scrambled against the wall. Putting my hand to my chest, I felt it; my heart still dancing to the rhythm of his touch. The boy stood and angled himself to meet my face. As he spoke to me, I turned my face away in humility. I was still dazed and embarrassed, no longer able to understand my own feelings. If I even looked at him I felt I would go insane, my entire mind a flurry as to how to look at him now.

"If I wasn't breeched, don't you think that it wouldn't felt so good for you?" He had the smugness of a fox, eyes glittering with cheek. Straightening his tie, he opened the door wide with grace. "And next time, think before you eavesdrop, hag."

When he left, I buried my face in my arms, eyes closed but tears still escaping. My lips burned with his taste, tongue brushing over where he nipped me. I could still feel the warmth of his almost tongue on my breath, and I didn't want to. I didn't want to remember what had just happened. It wasn't hatred but something definitely gnawed at my heart.

Because we'd kissed so intimately, but didn't even know each other's name. And even without looking, I could tell he'd had those paralyzing eyes open the entire time.

**Oh, wow. I never realized how short this chapter really was. Time for a history update! To be breeched is when a young boy first puts on pants, since at the beginning of their years they wear skirts just like the little girls. It usually happens at an early age, so to tell someone they don't even look old enough to be breeched is pretty insulting in a old-way. You can't go around and say "HAH! You don't even look old enough to be BREECHED, you doodlebug!" because it just isn't seen as offensive. Only morons would go up to you and say, "Did you just insult me, because it SOUNDED like an insult!" while the normal people will look at you like you're crazy and then go home and look up what doodlebug even means.**

**Also, you may have realized by now that my chapters are named after lyrics of the rhyme. However, it's not in order. I try my hardest to get the lyrics to somewhat match up, but...err, you know. Things happen, and I wish I could change 'em - cause I can - but I'm just too lazy for that.  
**

**-Somewhat Sentient  
**


	4. When She Awoke, She Found It A Joke

**I'd like to notify you all that I used a whole ton of Celtic slang in this one. So if anyone who reads this chapter happens to know Celtic slang quite well, let me know if any of it wasn't used during the medeival ages. Because I'm almost sure that some of what I included wasn't historically accurate. But that's besides the point. I wanted to put in a bit of maid work during this one, but never got to it. I suppose you could say I will include more of that next chapter...but I'm not letting you know anything just yet. Truth be told, even I don't know what I'm going to do...pretty awkward, huh?**

Each turning wheel flooded into an onslaught of chariots, crashing down upon the dusty earth. The entire field of Esther Fief was being invaded, people screaming as the helmet-masked men rode in through our main gate without fault. There were waves of them, not just a single regimen taking hold of our fief. Then again, it was no longer our fief anymore – just another piece of land owned by another lord.

They had the insignia of a wolf, bright red and eyes glaring with bloodlust. Their shoulder plates seemed to come alive with the blaze of the wolves, an entire pack emerging with the thunder which seemed to clap in their wake. Their long tongues lolled out, ears perking hungrily towards fatal sounds.

Villagers rushed out of their homes, tossing aside others and pushing frantically. It didn't matter who the person was; family or noble, they were left to be trampled on the ground, killed before the cavalry even arrived. Haystacks were jumped, straw flying freely into hair and clothes. The battle was inching closer, and there were frightened children screaming. Mothers clutched the tiny ones close as they tried to evacuate, finding no way out other than the taken entrance.

I wanted to scream, wanted to run with these people as they tried to get farthest south to Esther's neighboring fief, the Carlisle Duchy. It was above the lords, and the war would be less likely to reach there. Then again, everyone had thought Esther was a haven, a safe place. But we too were in a troublesome spot now; so much even if one called for sanctuary within the village chapel they would be slaughtered. The few church beneficiaries were already caught, praying to the Lord for survival. I had to turn away to stop from seeing their brutal deaths.

Every bone in your body was shivering during war, scared half to death and ready to be killed all the way in mere moments. You were nothing but prey, and they could stalk you all they wanted just as you could run all you wanted. They'd toy with you for a bit, but it wasn't nothing but temporary. You'd be dead by the fortnight, and that's all you could think of during those adrenaline filled moments of panic.

The knights weren't scared to rip us apart, dismember us into gory pieces. They picked up women and tied them up like slaves, leaving them at the side of the road away from the trampling hooves and the bloody smeared swords. There was the smell of smoke, pillagers cremating the homes and some of the older people. It felt like the chaos had just started, but it already ended.

A couple men cried out in an unknown language, possibly English laced with a very thick accent. They went all through town, finally finding the last building they could burn; the pub. It was a drinking place, filled with bear and alcohol for the men to wind down with. It was the best place to burn, but first they went through to get valuables. There were a couple of drunkards in there from the night before, each filled mead and eyes crossed. The knights pulled out the last one, the others lying in a dog pile with their bodies lifeless.

They all cackled, and shook the only one sober. He had stubble along his chin, slightly curved like the dip of a harp. His eyes were big, hair dirtied and hands black, red wine stains along his peasant's shirt. I gasped, but no one heard. Cries jumped out of my mouth, trying to reach the knights but popping like bubbles. My heart broke in two, and I wept, my body full of woe.

It was my father. My father was in the clutches of the enemy.

They threw him around, shouting out words I could barely understand. Their jeers were pestering, and I wanted dreadfully to go and hit them, even if it wouldn't do anything. I wanted to stand by my father, not leave him alone to perish solitarily. I breathed in the scent of smoke, blood, everything a reality. Then, a hooded figure came down from the hills near our gate, nothing visible beyond the night sky velvet.

The figure held up their gloved hand, leather judging from the shine. Being able to see all of the fabrics used in clothing were my specialty, but the person themselves was impossible to judge. I couldn't tell who it was – only the shape and outline were completely visible. I watched as it stepped closer, meeting up to the knights. I saw the insignia of a white wolf on the cloak, and shrunk away. This person was a lord; one of the main fighters is what I could tell from the army.

Long, thin fingers waved around in the darkness, the entire battle giving off the feeling of a solar eclipse with no light and complete surprise. The lord walked closer to my father, resting his fingers on his chin. He didn't make a noise, only pointed towards the pub. The soldiers nodded, as if not needing invitation and knowing exactly what the lord meant. Throwing Al into the pub, they grabbed their torches and stepped closer to the building.

The lord began chanting as they lit up the pub, my father trapped inside. I heard his groans, his gasps for air. There were long tendrils of fire bursting out from the confines of the pub, the chants getting louder and louder almost bringing the fire to life. It rose into the clouds, its wisps of smoke filling the air with poison. As the army shuffled out with two large trunks of precious items in tow, I crept silently over to the remains of the fire.

My father was nowhere to be found, no broken body or leftover singed bones. I dug my hands threw the littered planks, the black soot and dirt, hoping to find a trace of him in good health. Trying to find a hand pulling out through the remnants, begging for salvation. I sniffed loudly, and began crying with sound for the first time since the battle began. My screams before were soundless, but now I was filled with them. I couldn't stop, and all of my feelings fell in huge salty rolls of water.

I had sat there for so long, that soon morn broke into the war-ravaged town. Esther, the remains nothing but death and broken hopes. The black blood which had once submerged our homes had now soaked into the ground, the limbs and heads still slit or lying around. It didn't matter what had gone on now, because Esther was only a ghost town by the name. It was only a single villager who lived, scarred and never able to grow out the regret they'd been spared.

I hated to know that one person, was me. The only one to escape this dastardly thing of fate, this horrible occurrence which could only put stones in my heart. I swallowed, my entire body sore from my beaten up soul. The clashes, the cries, the gargled last words, they all filled my head and wouldn't go away. They wouldn't disappear, choosing to disturb me and avenge those others who had died. I was a living sin, not even bothering to help those who needed it or stand up for them if it meant death. And now, I would pay for it.

As I stepped out of the gates, nothing with me to survive, I looked out upon the crushed grass. I'd had so many fond dreams of this town, of my birth and my neighbors. It wasn't something I wanted to forget, but something I had to with the new memories pushing those old ones out. There was a red sun, not the golden one I usually saw on these bright mornings. This wasn't even a bright morning – it was a darkness equivalent to the night.

The rapid heartbeat I once had had seemed to stop, not even a heart within this walking husk of my body. I sulked out into the wide open land, the land no one owned but everyone fought for. I couldn't understand it, I couldn't see why they would put our homes in danger. Our lives, for the sake of their greed and their sole purpose of power seeking. We deserved none of it, we were innocents in the Lord's name! But a tyrant can always find an excuse for his tyranny, despite the poor lamb's proof. We were built to be stepped on.

Something flashed like lightning, and soon I was on my back looking up at the sky. Grass around me seemed to be crushed, broken and no longer functional. I could almost imagine years and years like this, no grass growing in homage to those who died. Those who didn't even get a proper burial as they should, a proper funerary ceremony as they should. My breaths were shallow as if they didn't matter, and I waited the night and days I would stay here. I didn't want to die in my own town, but I could whittle away outside of it.

Pure black eyes, no irises able to be seen, blinked in front of me – blinking like a snake from left to right. The face's mouth opened wide, bearing fangs and a bright red tongue coated with the scarlet of blood. I lay, and kept still as it neared closer and closer, about to bite my forehead, each inch a second in delay. I finally closed my eyes, and felt the piercing pain of…

Cold water. I woke up, my heart racing and sweat pouring down so fast that I thought it was raining. There was no way I could disguise my unease, my instability. The nightmare was still galloping through my head, giving me headaches and nausea. I lifted up my head, locks of hair falling back into place as I moved to face my assaulter. It was another maid, one in only her night gown and hair tied in braids.

"Why, ye look just like a school girl. Always sleeping in long, are ye? Ah, I won't pay a mind to you if ye'd just wake up every now and then." She had a slight Celtic accent, and I shivered. It sounded similar to the dialect in my dream, but she sounded kinder. Less harsh and much more sympathetic. Of course, there was that hint of a motherly nagging in her voice which I suspected she gained from working as a mentor to new maids.

"Why are you wearing braids?" She pulled one in her finger and twirled it around, her red cheeks and full figure shifting uncomfortably. I suppose she was trying to think of something to say that wouldn't sound different or foreign, so I could understand better. I nodded patiently, letting her continue.

"Well, 'less ye want to get scalped, 'tis best you wear 'em this way. See, these braids keep yer hair easy to manage. Now, off the yard!" I bustled around, getting my clothes together. I'd received a fresh uniform after meeting up with the butler and Patrick. They both had been completely unaware of my disappearance, but I suspected with the cheery chap of Patrick gone the butler would be more prone to slacking.

The smell of freshly baked scones and marmalade being lathered on them filled my nose, and I was actually happy for once in my time at the castle. We ate like kings – err, lords. I stopped to marvel at all of the bustling maids inside the kitchen, the cook wiping her dirty hands on her dirtier apron and commanding the lot. I wanted to go and lay down again, but my work as a maid had just begun.

"T' name is Genevieve, but ye can call me Gene. S'pose we could be skins, hm?" I looked at the girl, and nodded. Of course, I had no idea what skins were, but I was sure it wasn't something insulting. She was a nice person to be friends with, and she was another one of those enchantress types of maids I was noticing before. She has full red lips, freckled cheeks from working in the sun, and lush curly red hair which I was surprised she could contain.

"I hear yer going to be working as the new between maid in t' castle. 'Tis going to be hard work." I nodded, glad I finally understood my new friend. As a between maid I'd just be picking up random labors the cook or butler or whoever above me wanted me to do, since I was just starting. It seemed quite troublesome, but at least it didn't give me much of a permanent role in the castle. I wouldn't be missed, in other words.

I bumped into a large-boned woman, who sneered at me. Her hands on her hips, she looked me down to my flats. The stockings were itchy, but I threw them on and the apron was tied by Gene, since I'd never actually put a bow on anything before. It just didn't seem common to me. I'd tried to strangle my hair into a braid, but it stayed annoying so Gene had to help me with that. I suppose you could say that Gene would be my Jesus Christ for the rest of my stay at the castle.

"Your words, serf? You just shoved me, no?" I stifled a laugh, and curtsied with a low bow of my head. The woman snorted again, but passed by me regally. She wasn't someone who should be walking around with her nose in the air, because if she did you could count all of her chins. I sniffed my skin, finding that I still smelled of dirt despite the involuntary shower I'd woken up to.

"I've always heard tweenies had problems, but now I completely understand! You've got to be careful of yer higher-ups, cause they'll all be blaggardin' ya." I followed Genevieve to the ball room, which everyone was sweeping and cleaning. I found it odd that they were fixing it up when there wouldn't be any dances this evening. Or so that's what I was told, but being a between maid didn't mean that everything you heard was true.

The lord wasn't here, and I was told by Gene he wouldn't be visiting us ever except on monthly inspections or during big events. She spoke funny about the lord, as if he were nothing but a pest in the castle which needed to be killed. I nervously followed her, helping her fold napkins and polish utensils. I learned that we didn't actually eat what was made in the kitchen – we had to use our own funds if we wanted anything other than emmer bread with old preservatives.

We all lined up for a curtsy to the nobles, each pin straight and straightening our uniforms uncomfortably. I put on a full teeth smile, hoping with all my might there was no tartar on it. Who knew how else to get rid of it then scrub regularly? I didn't bring anything, so I had to rely on Gene for some salt or baking soda. She had brilliant teeth, shining like the sun and white as snow. While looking I saw Gene had a chain around her neck with a binky on the end for her main job as a nursemaid, and a pair of clippers in her pocket for her gardening work.

I kept my eyes lowered as instructed, my hands at my sides and not clutching my apron like I was all too eager to get this over with – which I darn sure was. I had to keep my bangs tucked behind my ears so then my face could be modest but still seen. The entire room swelled with the bodies of more than a dozen maids, each perfect in the humble way they were meant to be. As I glanced around, looking for familiar faces I'd seen at the castle gates, I found one pastel-filled face.

The girl from the noble boy's room.

I coughed, directing slight attention to me. Slowly, I looked back up and into her eyes. She locked mine, and I touched my sleeves lightly. I heard a gasp, and then a few pointed looks followed in her direction. Excusing herself, she raced out of the room to use the chamber pot. I hadn't meant to scare her away; I'd only wanted to know what business she had with that scum. Was she too forced into such a position? I unconsciously touched my lips, and then quickly put it down to my sides as footsteps resounded in the otherwise quiet ball room.

The nobles came in, as well as the butlers and numerous cooks of the castle. Each had their own obvious traits; the prissy and neat butler, the soft-hearted butler, the bossy cook, and the kind prodigy cook. I suspected since we maids were of lower class, we never would be able to see the prodigy at work. That disappointed me, but as I was taught I kept a smile to hide my dismay. The most brilliant facade is to plaster on a smile and act shy.

There were claps from the stable boys, who were behind the maids in order of rank. A couple of suppliants were in front of us, and the nobles shook the hands of each one. I curtsied to the women, and shook hands with the older men, keeping my face hidden as the younger men passed by. Somebody elbowed me in the side, and I kept my face hidden knowing well enough that the line of younger men was still passing. Were they trying to get me fired?

Another elbow in the side. I turned somewhat to whisper angrily at the person – which is a quite difficult task when there are people in front and beside you ready to pry – but found it was Genevieve. I wasn't going to scold her, but watched as she pointed to in front of me. I swiveled my head ever so slightly to face the young man. I kept my head straight, no longer following the less then forty-five degree angle rule. I immediately desired to have followed the regulations.

It was the noble boy!

How odd that was, considering I'd just seen the girl who'd been with him as well. I put my hands behind my back so I wouldn't be tempted to smack him. I stepped hard on my feet to keep from kicking him as well, because, every part of the body is a weapon valuable. I knew well enough if I kicked I was kicking in the groin, and if I kicked there, well, my father and I would be on the streets. End of fairy tale.

"Ah, hello. I don't think I've seen you before. Miss, would you tell me your name?" He smirked, and I bit my lip hesitantly. He stood there, rooted in the spot and staring me in the eye with those dangerous eyes. I'd faced that peril too many times to be fond of them. I nudged Gene as I bowed my head to some extent to prevent my answer.

"Ah, well, sir. This is my skin…I mean friend, Bobbi. I wish you good health and tidings, and am very sorry for speaking to you so informally." He waved his hand at her, and she bowed her head. Through my hair I could see nothing else, my bangs gone loose from all the movement. I heard footsteps, and sighed a breath of relief. Then I found two eyes staring right up at me, the noble boy having crouched to get a view.

"I see, you must be a between girl since you're new. Well, my name is Abe, and I'll be keeping track of you from now on, little Bobbie." I closed my eyes, already praying to the Lord our paths would never cross ever again. It wasn't fate or destiny which brought us together – it was karma. I was praying for reconciliation for all the bad things I did or wanted to do. That was a whole many, might I add.

It didn't work quite well. "Oh, and, you'll be needing this for those…miscellaneous jobs you'll be taking on." He slipped something into my hand, something soft. But I hadn't cared enough to actually think about the fabric; instead I was too busy thinking about the way our hands had brushed together at that moment. The way he'd given the tips of my fingers a squeeze before we'd parted.

Not once did I peek at the object I held in my hand, quite glad there were no more people to greet. I stomped off that time, angry and glad to bury my face in work. I was much too chipper for my own good while doing the dishes and plucking the weeds, as well as waxing the ball floor and other boring jobs. Only in the privacy of my small abode did I look in the palm of my hand, sweating and clammy from all the secrecy. Growling I threw the object into one corner.

The scum had given me a garter!

**I hope that was sorta kinda not really but still decently okay! Because, I sorta rushed this one in because I just wanted to get past this part before I forgot what I wanted to write in the next chapter. It's almost the same size as the previous chapter, so that means I haven't improved much in my writing. Of course, it was rushed and all, and I just wanted to get the first few chapters out before the end of the weekend. I'll probably only be posting one chapter weekly from now on, unless I have a huge chunk of free time (which probably isn't going to happen very often) but I hope the few readers I have still enjoy it somewhat and will wait those many painstaking days! Because, trust me, I know how it feels to be on the edge of your seat waiting for a new addition to come out. Currently, that's actually what I'm doing.**

**-Somewhat Sentient  
**


	5. It Made Her Heart Bleed

**I haven't written for this story for what...a solid two weeks? That's why I decided to write a VERY long thing this time. For those of you, who are my few reviewers, let me know if you don't like having long chapters. I'll redo it to have a maximum of...1,500 words? I don't know. Anyways, I used dog in this story. I meant it in the medieval way, which when you call someone a "dog" you're basically calling them a "jerk". Sorry, I'm probably going to be putting in a whole ton of weird words, and I'll try to explain them as best as possible or give you context clues.**

Considering the lord's son was after my soul and all the workers were "blaggarding" me, I wasn't the happiest of the land. If anything, I wasn't the fairest either. Each morning I woke up to find a rat's nest or a cowlick in my hair, my dress had multiple stains from food and dirt after the first two days, and I was getting snappier and snappier. I tried to let Gene know I couldn't talk because of it, but she kept on being her perky self and pushed her cheeriness upon me. I hadn't heard back from Abe for a while now, which was a God-blessed thing since I absolutely hated him. How else could I put it? He was quite the unbelievable dog that everyone wished they would never meet.

He was my own personal evil step-mother.

After a couple of days worked endlessly and tiredly, I decided I needed a break. I knew everyone was giving me a hard time about being the tweenie, and I wouldn't take it. Gene told me to be careful, because there was no such thing as breaks in this castle. We were supposed to work until our fingers broke off or we died from the little sleep. So either no matter what I was getting that break I so well deserved and would probably never get again.

I stepped out of the castle and into the gardens, clippers just in case anyone caught me sleeping. I tucked myself under a big bush, swept my dress from underneath me, and let my head roll around on my lap. I wasn't necessarily sleeping, but I was relaxing and closing my eyes. That was enough for me. I tried to make my own dream, with Abe tied down and being attacked by all the women he betrayed – which to my dismay I was a part of such a category. As well as the cooks and butlers underneath my feet as I yelled at them in gibberish. Best of all was when I set the castle ablaze and ran off with all my sheep.

I felt somebody punching me in the shoulder, and I opened my eyes immediately. Turned my head slowly, as if this way I would not be seen, I looked straight into the many chins of a cook. Of _the _cook. I looked up, straining my neck in the process, into her big black eyes. They weren't black, but it seemed more fitting for a dangerous, evil, and grotesque creature such as this one. Pulling my shears from my pocket, I tried a weak smile.

"I was clipping the bush?" Usually I would spit in her face and run off, hoping she believed she only thought she saw something. Even if she remembered I would've gone up and lied my way through it all, even if they made me swear on the Bible that everything I said was true. Unfortunately, I wasn't in my best spirit or with full stamina, so this cook was already a big hurdle to me. In truth, she was more of an obstacle course. She was that big. This was Tabitha, the woman I'd bumped into and promptly apologized to. Gene had told me to be wary of her, or something like that with a whole ton of words I couldn't quite understand. Perhaps that's why this sort of thing happened; I didn't listen.

Tabitha carried me out from the bush me by the tip of my ear, pulling harder than she had to since I was quick to comply. All I wished was that no one was witnessing the event, and finally my luck pulled through. Only butterflies and blossoms witnessed my fate. Swallowing hard, I felt the burning in my ear intensify as Tabitha pressed her nail into it. Screaming, I forgot all about people and started caring more about how much it _hurt._ I wailed my eyes out, and then some. She paid no heed to my agony, pushing me to the ground and dirtying my already soiled apron. Crossing her arms over her chest, though I had no idea how she did it considering the bulbous mass she had, Tabitha stared me in the eyes and those black eyed fantasies returned. This woman was the devil.

"Now, what exactly were you doing, serf?" I struggled to my knees, touching my ear and taking my finger back to look at its tip. I was bleeding. Bleeding! I had to bury my fury before I did something regrettable, not looking at the cook or even mentioning my name. It was Lady Luck which preferred to toy with me, allowing few things but not all. Was I not worthy of being spared? Tabitha huffed, and brilliantly, swooped down to look me at eye level. I tried not to remember the noise her body made when stooping so low.

"You're not worth my time, you understand? So I'll go easy and let's say...no supper." I flinched at her words, and then tried to regain posture without banging her in the nose. No supper? Supper was about the only real meal every day, since in the morning all we had were plain biscuits and kicks to the butt. Lunch was not served heartily either, only tea and yes, kicks to the butt. I tried to imagine how I'd thought the castle experience would be when I first entered, seeing the beautiful and sprightly young maids. Rows of tables of food for the maids, and the maids only. I can't think of this castle ever doing something like that even if it was King William's law.

"Also, I've been hearing some of the latest rumors from our local godsibb. You knew Sir Abraham?" I scoffed at the idea of a title next to that monster's name. Abraham wasn't suiting either, except that whole thing about countless children and generations. Of course, most of them would probably be illegitimate, but what else could you expect? This was a man who spent most of his time toying around with women's hearts, showing them love, and then leaving them to fend for themselves against problems sprouted from such romance.

"Yes, I know him. He's quite the frightful beast." Tabitha's eyes flashed and I could tell she was agitated. It made me a bit more relaxed about the whole situation knowing that I'd found a chink in her armor. It wasn't a weakness exactly, but it was something I could use to toy around with her mind. That was enough for me, might I add.

"Don't you talk about him that way, you mindless serf." I pushed the bangs out of my face and grinned right in her vision. I wanted to show her I wasn't like those obedient maids. I was Bobbi Argall, someone you didn't want to mess with. And if you did, you'd be in for it. Some people took away a body part, like a finger, if you were bad. Me, I wasn't physical. I'd slither into your mind and lay a nest of bad thoughts there. Thinking of myself as a snake, I tilted my head slightly and began to speak with a sugary voice.

"But isn't he? I mean, truly, he's a womanizer. Does someone like that really deserve to be in such a blue blooded family?" I could see her face boiling up, all of her many chins vibrating slowly in front of me. I backed up a bit, but once again gained control of the situation. I was hitting nerves, and I wouldn't stop after only a small amount of time. "Unless, of course, his father is like that as well…"

This must've hit her weak point. I saw as Tabitha stepped back, hyperventilating and trying to assume control of me. She turned beet-red, her thick fingers wiping sweat down on her apron. Despite the exquisite clothing she was awarded as a higher figure in the castle staff, she only looked like a little girl trying to play dress up. I looked down at myself, hoping I hadn't looked like a little girl myself. Then again, it wouldn't have been so bad for my image. Innocent seeming girl, dresses in older clothes and doesn't act her age, but has the sharpest tongue in Goose Country. Yes, I could adapt to that.

I touched my ear slightly, and she barely noticed the gesture. She was too busy fuming about my insult to the lord, apparently close to him. Most serfs would just leave it at that, no comment, since they never knew who was talking. Yes, the lord didn't sound like someone impressive. Finally, Tabitha made her come-back and turned to face me, looking at me pointedly and her mouth a thin line. "Well, he's much better than your own father. Sending you off to this place so that he could fool around and leech off of you. Why, he's nothing but a poor scoundrel who can't take care of his own family."

The minute those words were finished, I couldn't help myself. My hands scratched against the grass, pulling me up and my legs pumped towards the cook. I most likely looked like I'd crawled out of the sewers, but I didn't care anymore. I had locked up all my fury for the sake of this job, and yet to say a comment such as that…I could not take it with ease! Tabitha looked nervous, like she was regretting her words. Too late to regret it, I thought. Raising my hand, I smacked her, and all the adrenaline left my body with the impact.

It looked like I'd branded her with the print of my hand, a great big welt on her left cheek. I could tell she was biting back tears, because I was as well. I'd hit her so hard I hurt myself. Biting my lip, I watched as she narrowed her eyes into slits and almost raised her own hand. At that moment, I no longer felt like the snake. Venom dripped from her mouth as I lost all my guts and tried to think of an apology. "It's almost as if you're _asking_ for Hell."

I ran off from the scene, not crying but completely upset at myself. Why should I not be upset? I could've cost myself my job. I hadn't been thinking at all, and the cook was right. I was asking for Hell, and I was going to get it if I ever went back to that castle. I ran off into the trees lining the land, trying to make sense of the entire thing. What would the cook do to me? I felt the trees tear against my skin, the seeds crinkling underneath my feet and brittle leaves crumbling. I knew that my uniform was ruined and I was a bloody mess, literally. Sucking in a breath, I found myself back where I was at the beginning.

Tucked into a bush, dreaming about better things.

Perhaps Tabitha would say nothing and torture me slowly and gleefully. I'd keep my job, get harassed so often the word would no longer mean anything to me, but I'd keep my job. I'd keep my father's income coming, we'd get him a new job, and soon we'd even buy our land back. The land the lord took from us. I could already imagine Patricia climbing up in his coach and waving out to me, letting me know that I could go home. That everything was fine, and my father and I could be back together again. The way it should be.

I gritted my teeth at the cook's words. My father wasn't a scoundrel, a leech, or a liar. Al Argall was a hard-working man, who in spite of his lack of recognition of my status as his daughter, was the only father I could ever want. Forget the fact he placed his own sheep above me. He was my father, and I was willing to do anything for him. I was his loyal sheepdog, and whenever he wanted me to I'd be his shepherd as well. It wasn't a great big deal to me, because I needed my father. I had long ago needed my mother but she was never there for me. So truly, he was all I needed and wanted.

"Hello…" I felt a finger poke at my shoulder, and I cringed in spite of myself. Was it Tabitha? No, it was a deeper and younger voice, a young man. I cringed again; _Abe._ If it was him, then I wouldn't comply. I kept my mouth shut and hoped he'd go away without too much persistence. I already knew what he'd do upon finding me here. He'd laugh at me, I'd get mad at him, and then he'd pull one of his…tricks, again. I couldn't stand for another trick without completely going against everything I'd worked for. To think, that all I had intended to do today was take a break.

A head of black hair pushed through the undergrowth, and I immediately knew it wasn't the dreaded Abe. The boy turned his head to look at me with those green eyes of his, those light green eyes which seemed so innocent. I caught myself in them, and knew we were staring each other right in the eye, which I immediately became slightly flushed about. The boy climbed towards me, settling down in the grass beside me and began whistling a tune. I fiddled with my thumbs until he finished his tune, and then turned his head to me.

"Toshiro." I whisked my head around to face him, stunned by the words. I raised my eyebrows, and he only repeated it. "Toshiro." I tried to figure out what it meant. Some slang from the Grimm Country? This boy didn't seem like the people from the Grimm Country, much more like someone from the Far East. We also called that land Aesop's Country, but it was more of slang term, considering many of the slaves were from small villages over there. The slave trade had begun ever since the war started, the Grimm Country taking all the people and using them as serfs but without pay.

"My name is Bobbi. I suppose yours is Toshiro?" I stuck out my hand, and he shook it while nodding enthusiastically; obviously glad I'd put two and two together. His gaze wandered around my head and towards my ears, startle striking out in his eyes. Taking out his handkerchief, he began to dab at it. "Oh, you can just use mine, its okay." I took out my only one, a rich green I took from Patricia's wallet. The blood in my body curdled as the fabric pressed against my cut, everything stinging. I bit my lip, knowing if I shed a single tear it wouldn't be very ladylike.

"The pretty handkerchief is used for this." He took my napkin and began folding it every which way. I tried to follow the movement, and became dizzy in the progress. In a flash, he held out a beautiful flower with many sides, each silky with the texture of my hankie. "Origami for the girl. So you can look pretty while you cry." I tried not to snap at him for noticing I wanted to cry, and let him place the flower in my hair.

He looked me all the way through, and I felt the slightest bit awkward. Rustling came from the trees and I ripped my eyes away from this boy. Gene had popped through the bushes, her hands on her knees as she settled down. Breaths barely escaped her lips, words trying to form but her body too tired. Before she could speak, a portly form followed her suit and came out from the bushes to her left, not as dazed or breathless as she was. My eyes grew as I realized who it was.

Lord, it was Patrick!

I tried to comprehend the situation, and in a wistful sort of way thought of my dreams. My wish could come true! Good news with Patrick, and riding off with my father. I felt bad for Gene, who had to witness me going home, but I knew she'd be happy for me. I would send her back money, give her something to live off of other than bread. I could tell from her figure and showing ribs that she had to eat more daily. Gene crossed herself, and I waited intently for her words. My friend had finally calmed down and looked me in the eye, about to tell me something. Gene cut him off, and I tried to think of what our new home would be like, what job my father had.

"Bobbi. I am so sorry. Oh my Lord." Gene kept muttering under her breath, perturbed by something I couldn't understand. I looked back and forth trying to get myself together. I had a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach, everything bursting as I waited for them to tell me something understandable. Darn it, I would've milked it out of them if I could!

"What, what are you sorry about?" I even looked at the poor boy beside me. Toshiro had begun to look forlorn, an expression of grief spread across his face. I felt my eyes crinkle up, frustration taking a hold of me. "What? Tell me already!" Patrick didn't even wait for Gene this time, and turned those

"Bobbi, dear. Your father, he's…dead."

**Bum Bum BUM! Also, new characters! Tabitha was also introduced but now she's more of an antagonist than I had originally meant for her to be. Also, Toshiro is supposed to be Asian. What type of Asian? Put together two and two. Black hair, green eyes. He's going to have fair skin. What do you think? I haven't decided what type of Asian he is yet, but his name and his skills will help you out, as well as his next appearances. Toshiro is my friend, Ulquiorra-isnt-emo - also known by her stage name Supreme Dark Over Lord - creation. He's what she decides to call...smexy. Manly and sexy at once. I don't know how I can put that into a fifteen year old, but I'll try...XD**

**-Somewhat Sentient  
**


	6. Extra: Chicken Breasts and Paranoia

**Here's an extra! I don't know if anything in this is true, but I felt like I wanted to do something like this just to get Gene all flustered. Oh! Gene is the one in this extra speaking, because I need to write something short while I'm working on the next big chapter. Let's just say Abe is going to pop up in the next one...although Ulquiorra-isnt-emo doesn't seem to appreciate him. STOP YELLING AT ME! Goodness. All she talks about is getting in some smexy Asian fantasy with Toshiro. I don't want Bobbi to be indecisive like Bella from Twilight...at least I didn't make either of her love interests a vampire. Also, for those of you who liked my Shiver fanfic, I'm planning on making a story. It won't continue there, but I'll let you know when I can have that happen. Also, it's going to be a bit weird, but Gene isn't going to think the way she speaks. That'd be really troublesome for me, because I'd have to look up each and every single word...grr.  
**

There was never a single minute I couldn't help but spend fidgeting. There were other maids nearby, and something seemed to be taking Bobbi VERY long. Whenever we were invited to one of these sit-back lady talk things, she always got flustered and insisted she went to doll herself up. It makes one wonder if she wants to impress the ladies here. Was she...playing for the other team? No, no, there must be a mistake. Bobbi has a "relationship" with the lord's son, so there's no possible way she could be playing for the other team. Looking around, I feel sweat beading down my forehead. Are these other ladies...staring at me? Was there something on my face? I look down, ashamed I didn't have a corset of any sort. I should've laid off of the muffins. They'd be saying I'm thick, next! Behind my back! Even better, I should've saved the muffins and brought them here. Where was Bobbi? What was taking her so long?

And so I fretted.

"Is there something wrong, Genevieve?" Swallowing, I look at the ladies. I'll say, these ladies seem like the devil to me right now. With their big eyes, full lips, beautiful figures...devil's work I tell you! Devils! They're mocking me. The minute I leave the room, they'll start chatting it up and gossiping all about me. Why did I have to be brought up in this castle? Oh, living on the streets like a beggar might've been easier. Because everyone pities you too much to make fun of a beggar. And you know you're filthy and disgusting. But now? How would I be able to tell if I had nose hairs sticking out in all directions, or sleep cuddled into the tight of my eye? Perhaps that was why Bobbi was taking so long. She was making sure she didn't look ridiculous. What type of friend wouldn't help her friend out, let her know that perhaps she might slightly look gross? What if a dashing young man stepped in and asked me to dance, even though I was a serf and deserved none of it, and was immediately scared away because of my hideousness? Woe, woe.

"Ah, no, ye two are being dotes! I'm just planking it, 'tis all. Nothing to worry yer selves about!" Turning back and forth, I wiggle towards them and take a lock of hair out my eyes. "Course, I've no idea what Bobbi is doing. Is it wrong to get so prang?" Both of them exchanged a look, and trying to not impose, I backed up into my old seating. Grabbing a stale biscuit, I chewed anxiously on it. Was it wrong to be so paranoid? It's just, I felt like I was teeter-tottering on the edge. Like...like my head was on the guillotine and for some darn reason no one would pull the rope and end my misery. I was just sitting there, getting neck cramps and all, wondering what my persecutor was thinking. I'd probably be looking out in the crowd, trying to find my mother and father. Trying to to tell them by the Almighty I'd done nothing wrong. That I was framed! I'd tell them where the treasure was hidden, what to do when they found it. To follow the precise steps and to hope with all their heart that no one would target them like they'd targeted me. At least, that is, if I were on the guillotine and for some reason that was something I had to do.

One of the ladies got up from her perch, a bit dismayed to have stopped flirting with the stable boys outside, but besides that she seemed quite fine. They were twins, one with blue eyes and one with brown. Each seemed to finish each others sentences for a reason puzzling to almost everybody in service in the castle. Each would insist it never happened. Then again, they'd insist, ironically, at the same time. Trying to calm my nerves, I grabbed a napkin and folded it into all sorts of shapes. None of them looked like what Toshiro did. Tilting my head, I tried to remember if I'd introduced him to Bobbi. Eh, it didn't matter. Toshiro had a weird way of meeting people he hadn't met before. In fact, the first time I'd met him...well, that's quite different a story. A very embarrassing one, might I add.

"You see, Genevieve, there are some customs that the noble women would do. It wasn't tradition, but it was something they'd do to...create allure." The brown eyed one took out a full chicken, probably stolen from the kitchen upstairs, and began to chop it into sections. I tried not to clasp my hand over my mouth - having never had any interest in the cooking business, I never had any interest in seeing animals be cut up. The way I think of it, is that what if that animal were living? I used to have to kill chickens at our farm, latching my hands onto their necks and twisting each way to ensure instant death. I'd always been traumatized because of it, so now whenever I looked at a meal needing to be prepped, I strayed away from the meat portion. I would think of the animal, bleeding into the grass and cackling insanely. Laughing...laughing at me! Shivering, I wake out of my daze and look at the blue eyed twin.

"Yes! And since Bobbi used to be a rich child, you never know if she practiced these traditions either." Tilting my head, I looked the blue eyed twin up and down. She seemed quite serious, though I couldn't imagine what would be so traditional that noble ladies wouldn't share. Did they use to much powder, and then wipe it off on someone else's pillow? Did they cover their entire BODIES with powder? That could explain the length of time it takes Bobbi to get ready. But, wouldn't that be uncomfortable? I'd fancy putting a bit of powder on my face to make sure that my freckles didn't show. It's considered quite nasty to have freckles, because it shows you've been in the work. Ladies weren't supposed to work. They were supposed to lounge and sip tea, while juggling between men. Of course, that'd put the lady in a sour spot when they all proposed to her. Especially if they all proposed at the same time. Then they'd find they were duped, and they'd teach the lady a lesson. Perhaps something of the sorts was happening to Bobbi. These men were beating her up, leaving bruises on her thin face and gangly legs and arms. That would explain wanting to put powder all over one's body - to cover up the ugly bruises and remain an innocent lady in others eyes...

I hesistantly look behind me. Good. No sounds of protest. Unless...she was a masochist and enjoyed it! Shaking my head, I turn back to the brown eyed twin who has finished cutting up the chicken. She holds up two slabs of meat, smiling as she walked toward me. The smell of raw meat covered her fingers, and I was about to suggest washing her hands, but it was common sense. "They'd take chicken breasts, like these," the twin wiggles the slabs of chicken in the air, while the other is holding her mouth to stop from laughing. I don't quite get what is funny, but these women were raised quite honorably. They must have sophisticated humor that's hard for me to understand. Scraping my nails against the skin of my legs, I bite lightly on my tongue. I feel like I've been jostled around, up and down and back and forth, and I can't stop fidgeting. I feel like I should run out and make sure Bobbi is okay. What if she fell asleep in the water, and was now drowning in a small tub of cold water? She'd catch a cold, or she'd die...either one sounded quite a horrible injustice to me.

"And then..." The twins both look at me, and begin to speak. "They stuff it down their undergarments!" I clutch my head, already dizzy. Why did these twins have to talk in such a manner? I've been around nicer twins than these, who may look exactly alike but are kind and considerate. They never appear together in front of a person like myself, and they always take turns speaking. These two, with their finishing each others sentences and speaking at the same time...how was I supposed to understand a word they said? Our chef would often grump around when they were in her care, saying that God gave us two ears just so that we could listen to both of them speak. I felt like I needed four instead.

"Did you just say...undergarments? As in their knickers? Well, why would they...in their knickers?"

"Yes, of course. It adds more allure, doesn't it? The lady just has to wear an envelope chemise, and place the breasts inside the upper part." I scratch my head. Though now only the blue eyed one is talking, I still feel like leaving. Why would Bobbi stuff chicken breasts inside of her knickers? How impure. Did noble ladies really do that? The brown eyed twin turns around for a second, fumbling with the meat slabs. Banging my head against the table, I try to get the spots out of my eyes and the mush that was once my brain functioning. The serf next to me is staring, trying not to laugh at me. At least she's busy laughing at her twin, her mouth wide open and bursting with guffaws. I may be odd, but at least I don't laugh like a donkey.

"There! Don't I look like a noble?" The brown eyed twin turns and I'm almost knocked over backwards. Her chest...impossibly big! Nobody looked like that! The slimy pink of a piece of raw chicken poked out of her shirt, and while I tried not to stare I couldn't help it. Bobbi wouldn't do that. I am often wondering what takes her so long, but she never comes in with such disgustingly huge breasts. I've done her laundry as well - nothing smelled like chicken. It didn't even smell like food. I'd much rather believe my delusions of being beaten up by her many suitors, or powdering herself than believe that she does something so unholy. Standing up, I excuse myself and walk out of the castle. Pausing at the grass, I run back in and grab a biscuit. I have to tell myself it's for Bobbi, and not for me.

Later that night, while we lay down in the blankets under the fabric of the tent, I looked at Bobbi. Her hair was a mess of golden locks, a rat's nest and not a proper lady's hairdo. Looking at her face, I peer in and see nothing but her regular skin. No powder, no makeup, nothing. It was weird, but I couldn't help but lean over and poke her arm. It didn't feel sore, like she'd been hit. In spite of myself, I turned bright red. What was I doing? I was leaning over a friend, trying to find out what took her so long! I was POKING her in her SLEEP! What if she'd waken up? She might think something weird. Something like I played for the other team...which I most certainly did not! I loved men, men, MEN! I began to chant it in my head, before rolling back over onto my side of the tent. So she hadn't powdered herself, done her own hair, or been beaten to a pulp. Then what DID take so long?

Before I can think, I lift Bobbi's blanket and check for the smell of chicken. I almost collapse on her trying to catch a whiff. And just as I was about to leave her be, I see Bobbi's eyes flicker open. "Gene...WHAT are you doing?"

**And so goes the extra! I'll explain some of the terms I used, I guess. So, when you're planking it, you're really really REALLY nervous. And when somebody's a dote, they're being a really nice person. Err...what else? Oh, yeah! To be prang is basically to be paranoid. If anybody knows any Irish slang, let me know if I used the terms wrong! I don't learn about Irish slang in my everyday life or something, I'm not even Irish, but I look up the terms and stuff. So I'd rather take it from a real Irish person than just a site claiming to have all the facts. Also, for anybody who didn't catch it, the older maids were LYING. Since I can't prove anything about chicken breasts or such a theory, we're going to go with that. Questions? Comments? Oh, lemme get one comment done with before anybody posts it.**

**No, I don't know how I came up with this...XD**

**-Somewhat Sentient  
**


	7. It Happened One Day As Bo Peep Did Stray

**Okay, this one is shorter than the others. Sorry. I wanted to get something posted, and I guess I might've rushed it. I have a whole ton of ideas for this fanfic, but I need to take it one steps at a time, right? So I hope you guys like it. She's going into some sort of depression, which even BOBBI knows is uncharacteristic. Just hoping you'd comment on something so outta whack. Have a ...good read? Awkward.**

Was it the tears in my eyes which were dripping down my face? It felt like it was the blood from my ear. No, I wasn't crying. I didn't cry like some frilly and pompous maiden. It was the blood, not my tears trickling onto my clothes from the nape of my neck. And when I look down I'll see scarlet stains, and it might be a pain to wash but it will be crying. Because I haven't cried in so many years, not until when my father first started to stop calling me his daughter. That was over with. I wasn't crying anymore, because I had nothing to cry about. Right?

Just in case, I don't look down.

Gene is hugging me tightly against her chest, stroking my hair and cooing slightly. The older girl is trying to cheer me up, trying to show me that she feels my pain. Balling my fists, I push away from her and shake my head. I feel like a current has raised up in me, and I can't do anything but breathe and let the numbness of the current overtake me. I don't want to be comforted. I want to endure the pain on my own. Like I always had. I need my independency back, the one my father took with him to the grave.

They're all staring at me. Am I that much of a mess? Blue eyes, green eyes, brown eyes. I hadn't noticed I'd been whispering words under my breath the entire time, and before I could say more I clasped my hand over my face. What was I saying? The words appeared in my head. Lies. Alive. Hurt. They all thought I was crazy. That I had completely lost it. But it's fine if they think that. Those eyes didn't have to believe me. They wouldn't believe me.

"It's fine!" I yell, the current rising into a bigger wave and sending sea foam out of me and towards them. My bitterness, I wanted them to taste it. How else would I communicate to them? Not through words. They were too weak. Running away from them, I keep my eyes on the stone-peaked castle. He's dead. How is my father dead? He was healthy when I last saw him. Which was how long ago? A week or two? He could've caught the flew, but Esther had been safe from the plague even in its worst times. He couldn't have died. My father can't be dead. He isn't.

Pushing past thicket by thicket, I finally break free into the golden horizon, bird speckling the sky and breaking through clouds. They all flew, and they didn't know about what had happened. They didn't care. Mustering up the rest of my strength, I walked hesitantly away from the forest. It didn't matter how much you cried, the world still went on. People were still happy. I feel inflamed, ready to break down and ready to fight out at the same time. Was I mad? As mad as a grieving orphan can get. Pinching myself, I keep it in my mind. My father is not dead. He never could've been dead. He was my father. He would withstand…everything. He's alive.

The crickets hopped away from my feet as I sped up, sweat clinging to my face. There are people hovering around the castle like lost souls, barely murmuring words. They didn't sound real, with sharp consonants and floating vowels, syllables chopped in half and passed around the lot of 'em. Ignoring their feeble resistance, I push past and into the waxed entrance hall. My thoughts are on fire as I rush to the ballroom.

I feel like I'm riding the stairs, as I'm not the one running up them hurriedly. Crowing, I clear up the stairwell as fair-skinned serfs cling to the wall. I don't know where I'm going, but something's leading me there. Actually, it doesn't matter where I'm going. As long as I'm going somewhere.

Trying a brass knob, I scramble to get on the other side of the door. My gaze feels clouded as I try to make out my location. It's a tidy room with a thin-clothed cot and a sturdy wooden dresser. There's a plate of chamomile tea and biscuits with marmalade. Mouth watering, I slice a biscuit in two halves and lather the jam on each side. Warmth fills my body, and taking a sip of tea I let go of my emotions. Slumping over to the bed, I crawl in and feel my brain go to mush.

And since I can no longer think, instead I sleep.

"No, no. I'm too tired right now...Varda, we'll talk later. I understand that you feel that way, but really!" There's a hushed tone just outside the door as I wake up, tears dried on my face. "Yes! I've been searching all day and I can't help it…no, of course not. Fine. Just-" Squeezing my eyes shut, I hear kissing sounds and a subtle whimper. As they pull apart you can hear the woman breathing heavily, and she's trying to get in but the man closes the door on her. For a few minutes he lies against the wood, listening to her scratch the door and moan for his touch.

Without seeing him, I know who it is.

I don't want him to turn around and see, either. I want him to go away, to have the feeling that there will be no interruptions this time while I sleep. That I can sleep again, and forget he'd even been here. But know I have the urge to start actually thinking. And when I think, I can't sleep. Not that I could start snoozing away while he was either, anyways.

Breathing lightly through my nose, I hear boards creak as he goes to the dresser. Hearing him grunt, I curse at myself in my head. I'd eaten his food. Now he obviously knows that something is up. Flexing my fingers, I hear his footsteps go towards me. Panic building up in side of me, I cover my face with my hands as the hollow beating against the wood stops.

Letting out a small breath, I loosen my muscles and begin to fall asleep again. Then, without warning, the covers are ripped off of my body and my wrist is taken up into his hand. Flipping me over, I close my legs to keep my bloomers from showing, my hair taken out of it's braid to fall freely. Abe is looking down at me with a twinkle in his eye, and only after I realize how intimate my splayed body my look, I begin to struggle.

"Look who I found taking the initiative, hm?"

"I…initiative? You animal, if anyone, you're the initiator!" Scowling, I pull one wrist out from his grip and wiggle into a sitting position. I had to use all my will to restrain myself from smacking Abe. How dare he even think about putting me in such a position, the scoundrel! Though I'd managed to free myself from his grip, I still felt awkward in such a position. Especially in front of him, of all people. Closing my eyes, I let out a deep breath. Calm. Water. Calm. Water.

Though I was trying to soothe myself, the only change was that now I desperately needing to pee.

"Get off me." He smirked, with that playboy mouth of his, pearly teeth glinting in the dark like a hungry wolf. "Animal…" I whispered, hoping he hadn't heard. Unfortunately, my job was resting on this pervert's shoulders. And my job was currently, and will probably always be, my life. Especially with my father…well, I had nowhere else to go. Being a maid at this cursed castle, it was my only chance. Otherwise, I'd be polishing shoes and eating the rat's food for the rest of my life.

"I'd rather not. If you weren't be forward, why else would you have been in my bed?"

"How was I to know it was your bed?" Seeing I'd proven a point, he let go of my other wrist and lay down next to me. It was uncomfortable, but at least he wasn't looking down at me in such a cold-hearted and annoying way. His coat was hanging on the doorknob, the coattails rumpled up in such a way it was almost sad. He was rich, but that didn't necessarily mean he had to ruin such fine clothing. Otherwise he was wearing only a wrinkled shirt and some pants. I looked away.

His zipper was, disturbing enough, open.

Shivering, I knew it wasn't a foolish mistake. Again, another one of his parlor tricks for the more beautiful women. Somehow, though I knew it shouldn't have, it made me mad. Metaphorically slapping myself, I clacked my tongue against the roof of my mouth. Time to talk before he tries something again. "Listen, I came because of…" Chuckling to myself, I shut my mouth. "Why would I talk about it, anyways? It's not true."

"It is. You're father's dead. It's rotten luck, really." He turned that smug look of his into a lighter one, trying to seem sympathetic. Fuming, I tried to peirce his heart with my eyes. Tell the truth – you don't care at all. You're giving me false securities. He was lying, trying to get me a little bit comfortable so he could spring another trap. I might just be paranoid, but we're talking about the man who stole my first kiss. Sitting next to me. In a bed. When I need consolation because of my dead father. Everything is playing out according to his plans.

"Rotten luck? I needed my father and I still do. And that's what you say? Rotten luck?"

"You don't need him anymore. You're so much better than that. Your father left you alone, and it's time you accepted that. Truthfully, I wouldn't have cared if my father died, so why should you?" Gritting my teeth, I took up my hand and smacked him right across the face. Instantly I felt relieved. What was he saying? The sarcasm in his voice, that obvious look of idiotic happiness. He thought he'd fooled me. I shouldn't care if my father had died? It's time I accept his death? Everything coming out of his mouth was bilge. Climbing out of the cot, I throw his coat onto his bed and run out before he can say a word. All he's been saying, it's only been making me feel worse. Who does he think he's toying with?

Racing down the stairs, I brush past other women and stagger into my tent. Gene still isn't here, and the odd people who spoke words unheard of were gone. My stomach felt empty again, and I'd eat a stone or a piece of grass if my body could've digested it. Grumbling, I flop down onto my sheets. Why did I get so snappy, so cruel so easily? It was one thing. One little event. I didn't have to cry, I didn't have to be upset. It was natural, wasn't it? So there was nothing I had to feel bad about.

Letting out a well-deserved breath, I begin to change out of my grass-stained and bloody clothing. The maid outfit wasn't comfortable in the first place, but after all that crying and wiping my nose over the thing I felt suffocated. Like a fish who pees in her own water. I didn't want to be a fish. Peeling off everything, instead of going to take a bath I burrow under my covers and keep my eyes open. I have no intent on sleeping; I just wanted to be completely comfortable. Natural. Serene.

The loudest tumble rolls right through the flaps of my tent, and I feel completely exasperated. How many times if somebody going to barge in just as I am getting comfortable? And why is it always at the worst of times? Latching onto the tiny flower Toshiro made for me, I look up over the linen blankets. Wrapping them around myself while the tumbler is still dizzy, I crouch down and shake my head. Speak of the handsome devil.

Pulling him up, I feel my left hand continuously wander towards the tucked in part of my sheet. Sure, Toshiro is a little more naïve than I, but he's deep, and well, he's a boy. I can't trust boys, especially when the only thing covering me is this flimsy towel. Letting his sit up on my cot, I grab a handkerchief and try to wipe his face. He's a bloody mess, and there's dirt and grass all over him. Cringing, I see the velvet blood blossoming on his lip and knee and try to dab there. He's already flinching, the sting of the cloth surprising him. We hadn't even spoken, and the first thing he'd done was get himself into a mess.

"Why did you come here?" I bit my lip to cut off the word _now. _Toshiro was roughed up, because he was looking for ME. Or, that was my hope at least. He looked like a small child being scolded, those green eyes getting bigger and bigger each second. Muttering, I continued to wipe his porcelain features. Before, when he'd made the flower for me, he'd acted differently. His eyes seemed glazed over then, and he sounded much more serious. Like an entirely different person, even.

"I was looking for you. The geisha told me you were a maid, so I ran over to these tents." Tilting his head at a small angle, I stopped wiping his knee and almost fell over. This boy knew how to play with a girl's mind, didn't he? Going from mysterious to unbearably adorable so quickly, it made the blood rush to my face in shock. "Except, I didn't know which one was yours. So I checked every single one." I saw a twinkle in his eye, but forgot about it easily. Who knew what Toshiro could've walked into! I look down at myself. Well, nothing worse than this.

"Geisha?"

"They're very beautiful women. Although many are mistaken for prostitutes around this time."

"Prostitutes?" I almost coughed up blood. Innocent, pure Toshiro knows such a word. I begin to nag him like an overprotective old woman, but I soon cut my ramblings to an end. Toshiro must be at least a year older than me. He should know about prostitutes, right? I look down at this green eyed darling, and you can literally see fume coming out of my ears and my heart break into little tiny pieces. Who took away Toshiro's innocence? I will turn them into a stew and serve them to the lord himself!

While I was busy making throat-cutting gestures and waving my hands around like an idiot, Toshiro began unfolding my discarded rag into a bird. I still wondered how he'd been able to fold the flower, and now here he was folding up a bird? Telling him to close his eyes, I changed into some light nightclothes. Putting my dirty clothes in a soapy tub, I climb back into the tent and begin to disinfect my ear with some alcohol. Chuckling, Toshiro opens his eyes. It's as if he knows its okay. "Good, I thought you were going to kiss me!" The smirk he had on his face was like Abe's, but it was kinder and gentler. And they wouldn't have any ulterior motives.

"Assuming I wanted to, would it be so bad?"

"Well, no. It's just, I'M supposed to kiss YOU right?" Placing the bird in my lap, he pulls the lever on his green eyes. Before it was set on mildly playful, and now it seemed like he was telling me to cry. Not in a ruthless and cruel way, but telling that it's okay to let go of the tough façade. Toshiro was gentling luring me into his trap, which wasn't a bad one but it was fine to get caught.

Hands trembling, I close the tent's opening flap and tried to stop looking at those eys. They were ever more different from Abe's paralyzing ones, because they wanted to calm you. I was an injured animal, abused and left to die. Toshiro was trying to save me. So why did I have to compare him and Abe, if there was nothing to compare? I mean, Abe wouldn't have so easily said, "Bobbi, you can cry," just the way Toshiro did. With open arms and no other meanings. Nothing behind his words.

So I did cry. Right into his shoulders.

**KK, well, that was sort of good. I'm very bad at romance, even though I love reading and writing it. Weird, huh? **

**-Somewhat Sentient  
**


	8. Suspension

**I told myself that I'd be writing only a thousand word chapters, and that would make it easier to post for my two better stories, but it doesn't really seem to be working for me...I can only think of ideas for To Be Clipped. I'm really sorry for whoever was reading Bo Peep, but I'm going to have to suspend it for a while. I'm hoping to finish up To Be Clipped by the end of summer, and then pick back up Bo Peep then along with Seventh Snowfall. It's not as if I can't manage time and cut some out for this stuff, but I just can't come up with ideas. I'd tell you I promise to pick it back up...but I'm not so sure. I'm not going to say something like I'll definitely pick it up, but I'm hoping to.**

**-Somewhat Sentient  
**


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